Strangers
by Christinuviel
Summary: A dangerous secret, possibly crucial to the war 7th year, leads to the gang being stranded in a forgotten world. They all have to work together ... but the tensions grow. PercyHermione Ch 5 added FINALLY!
1. Dengwert

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STRANGERS

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Author's note:

OK, this is a story I began to write last summer. I had it planned out, wrote three chapters - and then my computer crashed and I lost the whole thing. So now I'm making back-ups *and* I'm going to try posting the chapters as I write them, though I normally like re-drafting as I go - I'll correct anything I'd like to change in author's notes like these.

Er, I hope you like it - please review and tell me! :) The story is set in Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts; it will involve the five younger Weasleys, Harry, Hermione ... and someone else? I'll try and write new instalments as quickly as my schoolwork allows.

(As for Dengwert, please tell me if this is, like, a German swear word or something. I checked as well as I could on various search engines ...)

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Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the amazing Ms. J.K. Rowling - except Iain Romany. 

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Rating: Er. This chapter is PG-13, I think, for some mildly offensive language and dark-ish overtones.

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Chapter 1: Dengwert

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Fear. Horror. A sickening rush of terrible sadness.

Your standard reactions to death: Muggle, wizard, whatever. More so, the death of a young boy. And as the news swept through the school, these emotions followed in its wake, yanking sobs and gasps and disbelieving whispers from the mouths of the students, rippling right through the corridors, down the stairs, up through the long solemn tables of the Hall ... right up to - into - the subdued eyes of the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. 

He quieted the Hall with one stern, sad gesture: he placed his hand on his heart. All eyes were on him; all faces looked to him for comfort, for hope, for desperate reassurance. The war against Voldemort had been building up through the last few years; rotting away the peace at the centre of their lives, replacing it with a steady, sickly undercurrent of fear. The fear had trickled through everything; even through the past few months, which had been free of any major violence. Any momentary illusions of peace were shattered now.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and began the Halloween speech.

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A long time later - or at least, it seemed long - the last of the subdued bustle had faded from the empty common rooms, and Hogwarts lay cold and dark. The Fat Lady had wandered off to drown her sorrows in a painting of a rowdy medieval feast, the floor below. Even Mrs Norris wasn't on the prowl; the black silence of the corridors was undisturbed.

Until ... a gentle creak broke the air. The deserted Gryffindor common room peeked out at the corridor, as the portrait swung open. The walls frowned disapprovingly as a slight rustling sound followed, and then a smaller creak as the painting swung delicately back into place. The sound of footsteps faded down the corridor, hushed by the dark quiet that settled back into place, if with a touch more expectancy than before.

The gentle patter continued down the marble staircase, into the Hall. Stars twinkled above, with a vague sort of warmth. Nothing else moved in the hall, barely even the air. 

The quick, quiet scuffing of shoes on marble continued across, finally coming to a halt in a secluded niche at the side furthest from the staircase. And then, a portion of the starlit murk slithered to the ground, and in its place were not one but two figures.

Starlight glinted in his green eyes, but it had no effect on Harry Potter's raven-black hair. A couple of steps away, the other boy ran a nervous hand through tousled red hair. 

"Are you positive this is a good idea, Harry?" Ron asked. Harry didn't reply immediately; he was soaking in the dark night cool, and his eyes were alert with thought. Ron leaned into his line of sight to catch his attention, and Harry sighed, with a note of impatience.

"Look, didn't we already discuss this? If you want to go back, take the Cloak. Fat chance anyone'd see me here, and anyway, there's plenty of empty classrooms to duck into." Ron frowned. Harry mellowed a little.

"Fine, fine. I just ... c'mon Ron. We know this place better than anyone, thanks to this," he brandished an old parchment, " and also thanks to this, we'll have a head start on anyone about to catch us. I can't sit around and do nothing, and you know Snape would prevent any attempts of ours to join in with the teachers' efforts. Call it force of habit - we have to find out what's going on. And believe me: there _is _something going on." Bygone advice from Dumbledore flitted across his brain ... _use caution with our curiosity. _He ignored it and concentrated instead on peering around the room.

Ron stared at his friend. Harry's face was impassive in the dark. He had always been the most introverted of the inseparable trio - _well, maybe not inseparable, _grimaced Ron. If _he_ thought it was a bad idea to snoop round the scene of the crime, goodness knew what Hermione would have screamed if they'd told her.

In truth, Harry had become more intense over the years. If anyone were ever to paint his portrait - as, Ron had no doubt, someone eventually would - it would be full of deep shades and rich colours, and strong, dark outlines. Red for a fierce temper, warm forest green for a strong heart (especially protective of his friends), gold for a staunch pride in being a Gryffindor, black for a far too painful past, and midnight blue for his sharpness, his unpredictability, and the place in his mind he kept reserved for himself and his thoughts.

A lot of people noticed the gold these days. Gold for the Snitch he seemed to magnetically draw to his hand - gold for the sunlight he loved to bask in, silently, with his closest friends bickering by him - gold with red, like Gryffindor, the pride he took in being alive and the recklessness with which he often endangered that life. The pride had been the focus of many words, not all of them kind, and tellingly, not all of them from Snape or the Slytherins. Harry was thinking of himself as a crusader, eh? what's that Potter kid been up to now? he's an odd one, now, innee, seems to stare right through you, dunnee? 

The Boy Who Lived In His Head. The first major row the two friends had ever had, at the start of that fateful Tournament, had been over this precise problem. Admittedly, Harry had done nothing to provoke it, and Ron was honest enough to allow that part of his own anger had been caused by envy of the attention his best friend always got. But then, it wasn't really about what Harry had specifically _done_, it was about how he _thought_. He took on every problem as if it were his personal responsibility to solve it - in a large way due to his experience before and during his time at Hogwarts, of course - yet even now that the fight against Voldemort had fanned out to encompass the whole wizarding world, Harry still saw it as a one-to-one duel. Intuitively, Ron knew, and perhaps everyone else knew as well, that eventually there was going to be some sort of showdown between the Boy Who Lived and the Big Nasty Wizard Who Tried To Kill Him - the question that lingered quietly but insistently in Ron's head was: how much would Harry himself be the one to seek out Voldemort for that final battle?

Ron and Harry had patched up that first argument way back then in fourth year; one of the things about close friendship is the way the good aspects will immeasurably outweigh the bad, and you'd much rather have that person in your life than not. However, another thing about close friendship is that when arguments happen, they happen because of deep-seated causes. Ron knew there was a independent and unpredictable streak to Harry, which, while being one of the things he admired about the friend he knew so well, was also a good reason to have misgivings about tonight's "investigation".

Still, they'd got this far, hadn't they? With any luck, the big dark empty hall lying now at their disposal would remain just that: big and empty, with lots of little dark empty places branching off it. "Fine. Where do you want to start?"

"Er ... well, the scene of the crime, I suppose."

"Harry. The 'scene of the crime' has been trampled over at least fifty times today." Ron stared at the massive doors - to the side, and barely visible now, was a pile of wreaths and flowers and notes. He looked back at his friend; lost in thought, as usual. Frustration began to gather in his throat as he hissed, "Listen to me, wont you? The entire Hogwarts staff, not to mention several members of the Ministry, and Mrs Norris, have been examining that spot with charms and potions even Hermione'd get a migraine trying to learn. What on EARTHdo you expect to find there -" The sentence tailed off and was forgotten.

As they'd been staring at the doors, something had begun to happen. The enchanted starlight had been at first too faint for them to make out more than an outline of the archway; now, though, they could trace the heavy metalwork of the handle, even from their niche halfway across the hall. The increase in visibility had been so seamless that only the glint of new light on one of the ribbon-wrapped bouquets had alerted Ron. Harry didn't move - but his eyes, too, were shining.

"Ron ... perhaps what I'm expecting to find won't exactly be what you'd call 'earthly' ..."

The light had grown stronger still; it was now possible to see where it was coming from, more or less. There was a shimmering in the air across the Hall, opposite to Harry and Ron, near to the side where the entrance was. A few seconds more, and Harry, squinting, saw, clear-lit against the dark, a small door.

"Come on." His small wiry frame was merely a movement in the dark as he swiftly crossed the floor. Ron followed; but the lankier boy was hunching a little with nervousness, as if he felt exposed in the open space. He reached the door a step behind Harry, his heart thumping. He had a vague idea what he was about to see, but that didn't stop him wincing when Harry stretched a thin hand out, opened the door, and walked through.

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Harry's first thought was "Just a ghost", as he watched the bobbing, shimmering light in the corner of the small store-room. Then it turned around, and his stomach gave a funny turn. He wondered why he hadn't foreseen this most simple of possibilities; perhaps foreseen the awfulness of witnessing this again.

The ghost of Iain Romany floated before him.

The son of James and Lily Potter had seen many ghosts or near-ghosts in his time: the school ones, those whose deaths had been directly or indirectly caused by Voldemort, his parents, and schoolmates. It could never prepare him for the thud of cold horror in his gut whenever one was new-created. There was much in the wizarding world he'd had to get used to, things considered frightening aberrations by many Muggles, things he'd gladly accepted as part of his new reality. But to see, almost part of the night air, simply the essence and the image of a boy he'd spoken to only three days ago as flesh and blood ... It was Iain Romany, yes. And it was Cedric all over again.

Iain surveyed him quizzically. He threw a little wave to Ron, peering through the doorway, and Harry felt him recoil in horror behind. Harry's own fear was immobile, ever-present, a familiar memory deep in his being. After the initial shock of nausea, it gave him an odd feeling of being detached. When he finally spoke, it was in a surprisingly normal voice, as if he were merely telling Iain and his best friend Colin to bog off and leave him alone, just as he'd irritably snapped three days ago. The last time he'd seen Iain alive.

"Hi, Iain. Don't suppose you could tell us what's going on?"

Iain, a fifth-year, had been thin, blond and fair, with pale wide blue eyes - therefore, he was quite well suited to the shimmery ethereal lightness of being a ghost. He had made friends with Colin Creevey over a shared love of photography, and a common inquisitiveness. Iain was quite a resourceful mischief-maker. Since then, Colin's deferential treatment of Harry had changed somewhat in nature; instead of treating him as a celebrity, he had begun to turn to him for advice. As a co-conspirator, even as a friend. Harry didn't mind, and he knew they meant well; but last week, he'd had masses of Potions homework, and Ron and Herm had been teasing him over his agony-aunt status with the two younger boys, and well, he'd been a little harsh when Colin turned up, and big-eyed Iain hanging over his shoulder.

Ghost Iain cocked his head. "Well, yes, Harry, I could help you find out. Or should I say 'oh, it's none of your business, can't you - go off and shoot pictures of mating Flobberworms, or whatever it is you do in your free time other than tail me!'" Harry began to apologise, but Iain raised a shimmering hand, grinning. "Look, there is really no point in bearing grudges when you're dead. I'm just joking with you, Harry. I'm still me, even though I'm ... dead. Well ... it's not easy - coming to terms with that," his voice grew quieter, face more sombre. Then he shrugged and smiled, wryly. "There are up sides, I suppose. I'm going to get Nick to throw me a great welcome party. And as for that wretched Peeves ..." His silvery pale eyes twinkled even brighter. 

Harry and Ron still gaped.

"Fine then, let's get to the point. Obviously my afterlife plans aren't quite so interesting as my death - oh, stop apologising, Harry, I'm joking again. I've got the whole of eternity to tell you this stuff, I'm just trying to make it fun."

"Yes - Iain, but er, we only have tonight." It was Ron, awkwardly speaking up for the first time. 

Iain beamed. "Hi there, Ron. Hey, how's Ginny doing these days? Send her my regards - no, scratch that, I'll be here for the next few centuries, positive I'll see her sometime before graduation ..." Harry put his head in his hands.

"Iain -"

"All right, all right. I don't know why I was killed."

That caught the boys' attention. Iain stopped bobbing in mid-air, and sat down on a shelf. Harry did likewise, on an old wooden box. Ron stayed where he was, warily leaning against the doorframe, the door ajar beside him.

"I don't even know if I should be telling you any of this, but hey, you were the original investigators, the prototype for Colin and me - must pop by and visit Colin, actually - basically, I'm sure you'd try to find out one way or another. Just trying to make it safer and easier for you.

"Did you ever see the Avada Kedavra curse performed? Agh, bollocks," he swore, seeing Harry cringe, "- sorry about that, Harry. Well, anyway," he went on hastily, "it was like that, a quick whoosh of death. I don't even know why. I didn't do anything to cause it." He frowned, pensive. 

The other two waited. Ron looked nervously over his shoulder at the dark Hall behind him, wishing Iain would hurry up so he could just get back to the dormitory. There was something distinctly creepy about conversing with a dead schoolfriend in a store-room, in the dead - pun intended - of night. 

"Well," he started up again, "I've been thinking about this quite a bit - nothing else to do really - and there _was _one really odd thing in my final days. Final moments, even. Something I heard; but I hadn't even acted on it yet ...

"Colin and I got in trouble after, ah, practising our investigative photography techniques in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, so we weren't allowed to go today, to the Hogsmeade trip. There weren't _even _any girls in it at the time," Iain scowled. "All right, no grudges, whatever. Um, Colin had a lot of homework, so he told me to get lost; sort of like you, Harry. I was bored silly, and decided to go exploring, with a pair of those new Omnioculars ...?" Blank faces. "Oh come _on _Ron, it was your brothers who sold them to me! They're great, you can hear close-up as well as see! There _must _be some secret passages _somewhere _in this castle ... I was just outside the main doors, and I heard far-off voices, so, like the fearless and daring investigator I naturally am, I, well, hid my sorry arse behind the nearest statue. Pointless, really, since the Omnioculars were magnifying a conversation from halfway across the school, but there you have it. "

"Sounds like us." Despite his nervousness, Ron wore a wry smile. He was now especially glad, too, that Hermione hadn't come with them. If she'd heard about the dormitory escapade, she'd probably have exorcised Iain. Despite this amusing thought, Ron couldn't help looking over his shoulder. An anxiety was building up in him that he couldn't quite explain; he wished Harry hadn't folded the Marauder's Map away into his pocket, but Harry was far too caught up in what Iain was saying to take it out for a check. The ghost went on.

"It was Dumbledore and McGonagall. They seemed quite het up; Dumbledore, especially. He sounded furious. I didn't quite catch everything, but what I gathered went something like this: there were people near here who shouldn't be, there wasn't much time ... and only one name. Dengwert."

At that moment, Ron was about to look worriedly over his shoulder again, but he didn't have to. Something came hurtling in through the door-frame; he yelled in fear and ducked. Harry spun around to look. Even Iain jumped. 

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Peeves hovered in mid-air, in the centre of the store-room. Harry let out a sigh of relief, which, however, caught in his throat when he saw the expression on the poltergeist's face. Peeves looked horrified, he was even paler than usual, and he was glaring at Iain. It was the first time the boys had ever seen Peeves look serious.

If Iain could also have breathed out a sigh of relief, he would have, though his face showed considerable trepidation at the sight of Peeves' wrath. He wasn't quite sure precisely how much damage a poltergeist was able to inflict on a ghost, but he decided to risk it. "Anyway, that's the end of the story, folks ... er ... I took a step forward, repeating the name to myself - it sounded German, and I used to study German in Muggle school. And then I dropped dead. Fin."

"Fool! Hasn't Dumbledore spoken to you yet?" Peeves snapped.

"Er ... oh, what do you mean, that "don't tell anyone how you died" thing? That's all he had time for, but, er, I thought he meant so as not to scare anyone squeamish. And Harry's quite brave, you know. And Ron, too," he added, unconvincingly as Ron was staring at the proceedings with an expression of abject terror on his face.

"NO, you ectoplasmic imbecile! He told you to keep quiet so you wouldn't lead any more nosy halfwits into danger, which, within only _hours _of dying, you have succeeded in doing!"

Now Iain looked quite scared. "Er -"

Peeves cut him off, turning to Harry and Ron. "Get back to bed before you get yourselves killed too! NOW!" Harry looked as if he were about to protest, but Ron grabbed him by the arm.

"Let's go. I mean it, Harry. There's something _extremely _wrong here." Harry's eyes were still fired with excitement and curiosity, but his friend's tone seemed to bring him back to the reality of the situation. Moreover, Ron's yell when Peeves shot in could well have attracted someone's attention. He looked up at the ghosts.

"Thanks for everything, Iain." He turned to go.

"Yeah, see you around, mate," Ron added, moving out of the door and waving tentatively as he left. The two boys scurried across the darkened hall floor, disappearing halfway as Harry threw the Cloak over them. 

"_Thanks_? They should be bloody well killing you again for what you've done!" Peeves scolded, albeit a little less ferociously now the boys had gone. Iain tried to apologise, still frightened. "Oh, leave it out. But I'm warning you; you'd better not be a troublemaker. This school ain't big enough for the both of us." Suddenly, he broke into his trademark wicked grin. "Blegh. That's more serious than I've managed in over a millennium. But still, Dumbledore'd better hear about this - and _I _didn't do it, so you're going." With that, he shot out the way he'd arrived. Iain remained in the store-room, thinking, his silvery light dimming as he sank into that limbo-like state ghosts sometimes substitute for sleep. It was strangely reassuring to see Peeves back to normal after his tirade - so much so, that the dozing Iain faced the thought of confessing to the Headmaster with considerably more resolve than he otherwise would.

He needn't have worried. As the silvery light faded from the Hall, and the Fat Lady (also dozing, drunkenly) was swung oh-so-gently back into place over the portrait hole, the darkness settled lazily again - if anything, thicker than before. Nobody had heard Ron's yell; there was no Mrs Norris on the prowl. There was no noise at all in the entire school besides snores ... almost. The only thing to be heard, imperceptible even to Zonko's New Range Omnioculars, was the soft cooing of a phoenix, as its owner worriedly paced the floor of his study.

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	2. The Hamster Ball

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Author's note:

Right ... have been able to write this fairly quickly thanks to (a) Xmas holidays and (b) the fact that I wrote this sodding chapter last summer! Darn computer ... Thank you Jen and Lothlorien for reviewing! :)

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Disclaimer: It all belongs to the brilliant Ms. J.K. Rowling. Bless.

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Rating: Er. PG, I think.

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Chapter 2: The Hamster Ball

Hogwarts and its grounds lay draped in early November cold. It was a crisp clear morning; crumpled off-white clouds, a gentle chill, and dark branches of ancient trees painted in delicately convoluted patterns on the sky. Perfect weather for Quidditch practice, but not even the die-hard Hufflepuff trainers were up yet.

There was one speck of movement on the otherwise perfectly still swathes of lawn. A figure, dressed in traditional billowing black robes and clutching a small black briefcase, was walking up the path. His head was bowed, in concentration, fatigue or shame. His purposeful stride slowed as he passed the glassy, gently rippling lake; he stopped, stared. Shook his head as if remembering something. Standing still as he was now, it would have been possible for someone watching from a Hogwarts window to have seen him clearly: a rather formal-looking young man, tall and thin, with the golden Ministry crest on carefully-pressed robes.

The formal young man hung his head once more, and continued to walk, faster than before. Long legs carried him swiftly up the steps to the main doors. He stopped still and reached a tentative hand out to the handle. Without a creak, the doors - _enchanted, of course,_ he thought to himself - opened, and glancing nervously in, he stepped forward.

The flowers beside the doorframe rustled as the doors swung back into place, startling the formal young man somewhat. His soulful brown eyes took in the memorial pile, and he stooped to look at the various tributes to the dead boy, focusing on the centrepiece; a collage of photos, and a scribbled note by "Colin". _Wait - surely that's a girls' dormitory! The rules must have changed since I've been away ... _

He got to his feet, pushing his red hair back from his face. The formal young man sighed, pensive. 

"Ah, there you are, Mr Weasley. I see you're an early riser, too." Dumbledore smiled benignly from the top of the staircase.

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Dumbledore's office was exactly as Percy remembered it. Circular, warm, with books and mementoes and silvery gadgets of all sorts lining the shelves. There was a fire crackling in the hearth; a cup of hot chocolate still steaming on the desk. Paintings of old Headmasters dozed along the walls, though occasionally one would open a bleary eye, peer suspiciously at him, and then shaking his or her head, fall grumbling back to sleep again.

Only a few additional items here and there gave any hint of the deadly serious matters often discussed in this very room. There was a huge new filing cabinet Percy didn't remember being there before; its handles in the shape of gargoyles glaring viciously at whoever approached it. Moody's Foe-Glass, or something very like it, was hung on the wall; and Percy shuddered as he recognised the vague, hooded silhouettes of both Death Eaters and Dementors in it. What looked like a tiny Pensieve simmered on the desk. Reading through the titles of the books on Dumbledore's shelves, Percy noticed more serious, well-thumbed tomes among all the more innocent spellbooks and historical works. _Dementors: The Method In The Madness _shared a shelf with _The Monster Book of Monster Jokes II_, for example. _How to Save the World from Imminent Devastation at the Scaly Hands of the Dark Forces _sat beside _Bureaucracy and Brilliance: The Founding of the Ministry of Magic. _Although, Percy thought bitterly, his Ministry was tainted now, by its incompetence. Dumbledore would do well to research it too as a potential danger. Somehow, even though his workplace was being called into question, the thought that Dumbledore was preparing for the worst was reassuring to Percy. And, moreover, it touched a familiar nerve in him: the need to prove his worth, the desire to show Dumbledore that he was reliable, he was competent, he wanted to do the right thing. That not everyone in the Ministry was corrupt - that Percy the Prefect, was stronger than he seemed, or than the limitations of his work allowed him to show.

Dumbledore sat down in his winged armchair and took up his mug of hot chocolate, offering Percy one, which he declined: the picture of ease and comfort, if it weren't for the shrewd intensity of his blue eyes as he surveyed the young Ministry worker. He gestured, and Percy sat too.

After a pause, he began. "You'll be wondering why the school has called you here, I suppose. I can't tell you that just yet, but I can explain why I chose you. You were one of our most dedicated students of recent years, a trustworthy Head Boy, and a young man - with a strong sense of right and wrong." Percy squirmed a little, not knowing whether to acknowledge the praise with a smile or remain serious and impassive. The result was more like a grimace. Dumbledore smiled.

"But it isn't always easy, doing the right thing." Percy was shocked. It was as if Dumbledore had read his mind. The old wizard's face grew serious as he continued. "There are sacrifices, there are losses, and there are mistakes ... many of them. We've all suffered them. Some of us have succumbed - others have managed to resist. Others still have fallen into evil only to rise again and conquer their own darkness." 

Percy knew he was thinking of Snape; it had been years now, since the Potions master had gone over to Voldemort, a supposed Death Eater while risking his life and all he held dear to spy for Dumbledore. Many horrors had been perpetrated by Voldemort's forces since then; though surely there were an unknown few atrocities that had been prevented by Snape's efforts, he must have had to stand by and witness so many more successful operations. Almost an accomplice, almost. Percy felt an echo of that sensation, that helplessness. He felt it every time he walked into his office, with swathes of red tape falling from above, wrapping around him, tying him immobile, while Voldemort - not someone who bothered much about public relations - cut deep grinning gashes into the wizarding community. 

Dumbledore's eyes were clouded. As Percy looked into them, it seemed he could see that depth he spoke of: the core of sadness and sacrifice and guilt, woven together in many-textured strands, tangled, but not tangled enough to drag him down, oh no. The goodness in Dumbledore was tied right into his being, and that too was almost visible in him. 

"Sir? Does this - I mean, it probably does, I suppose, but I'm not, well, sure - does this have anything to do with the death of Iain Romany?"

"Indeed it does, Percy."

"An investigation?"

"If only it were that simple ..." Dumbledore sighed. "Alas, we know only too well why Iain Romany died; we know others may well join him if we aren't careful. And, we know we haven't been careful enough, up till now." Percy realised the tragedy was only a new strand to Dumbledore's immense store of emotions; his guilt. It was disturbing to see his old mentor - and not only his, but the wizard to whom a great number looked to for leadership and wisdom - blaming himself. Yet it also seemed to make the great man more real, make his many achievements stand out for what they really were: acts of effort and will, not the easy miracles many believed him capable of.

"Iain Romany," Dumbledore continued, "was killed by a danger some of us knew of, and of which we could not speak. Do you say 'Voldemort' or 'You-Know-Who', Percy?" he asked abruptly.

"Well ..." Percy was taken aback, but answered truthfully, "'You-Know-Who', but I am trying to say Vol - Voldemort more these days."

"And why is that?"

"Because 'You-Know-Who' is a lie. His name is Voldemort, and he's back, and we have to face it. Calling him his true name calls up all the things he's done - we don't want to hear it, and that's why we hide behind euphemisms - but we have to remember what he's done, who he is, and why we have to fight him. He'll still present the same very real danger, whatever we call him ... irrationally pretending he's the phantom bogeyman won't make us any safer."

"A very precise explanation. You always had an affinity for the facts." Dumbledore smiled. Some would say Percy never looked beyond facts - but the old wizard knew that was unfair. It was simply what he was best at, the same as one could be good at Quidditch, at potion-brewing, at handling ferocious animals. A Ministry worker who would face up to the facts, and use his resources to fight in his own way, was always a valuable asset to the resistance. 

"However, the reason I brought the 'You-Know-Who' issue up is to put this situation to you: what if saying the word 'Voldemort' _was _dangerous? What if you exposed yourself to danger, alerted dark creatures of your very whereabouts, merely by saying it - or even, simply, by _knowing _it?"

"I - I don't understand, sir. Are you saying this is true? Can the Dark Lord read minds now? Is that why Iain died - but _everyone _knows You-Know-Who's name ..." Percy stammered, slipping into his old habit again.

"Calm down, Percy. Voldemort can't read minds ... yet." Percy fell silent, the agitation still visible in his wide eyes and horrified expression. "And," Dumbledore said, getting up from his seat and walking over to the bookshelf, "I can't tell you any more about this right now."

"But sir, then why did you call me? If there is a chance of You-Kno - of Voldemort's acquiring the power to read minds soon, why then, the resistance, the whole wizarding world is in the gravest danger of all!" Percy exclaimed loudly, emboldened by his horror.

Dumbledore said nothing: he reached for a book, massive, red, a little worn at the edges. Percy watched as he placed it on the table, opened it carefully, and searched through the pages. His hand came to a rest near the end of the book, but before stooping to read it, he turned to face Percy.

"I have a task for you, Percy. It may be simple - but if things go wrong, it could become extremely hard. I need to know if you're willing to take this responsibility - to place yourself in a position where you could well find yourself fighting this 'gravest danger of all'."

"You have my word."

Dumbledore hesitated, something of sadness, of worry, again visible in his eyes. "Right. I'm going to have to put a spell on you. It won't hurt; it will merely ... alter your perceptions rather drastically, I'm afraid. That's the reason we can't simply put a spell on everyone - we have no idea how long this business is going to last. As for you: well, it's necessary for your mission, which hopefully will be over in the minimum amount of time. And, it will protect you. Just as I expect you to protect Harry and Ron." 

"Ron - Harry - what, what have they done now?" Fear for his brother and annoyance at whatever stupidity he'd got himself into now fought for space in Percy's throat, with fear winning out. Slightly. 

"The same as Iain did. Actually, it was Iain who told them, his ghost of course. Another instance of our slipping up. We were so busy trying to protect the castle, especially the entrances - casting spells, making repellents, Hagrid and Professor Sprout bringing in unusual assortments of er, rather unpleasant animals and plants to ward off danger ... I had no time to give Iain more than a passing warning of the damage his words could cause. I should have _found _the time." Anger at himself was briefly audible in Dumbledore's voice, before he turned back to business.

"What I need you to do is protect them. No Memory Charm can erase what they know, and no force on earth is going to stop them trying to find out more. This - problem has only been considered a minor danger up till now, nowhere near as immediately pressing as Voldemort's main attack. Even Voldemort may well have given it little importance; merely an old witches' tale, perhaps.

"There _has _been a team of Ministry wizards working round the clock to find a solution - don't worry, Percy, it was a top secret mission and most don't know there even _is _a new danger. But any moment there could be a breakthrough, on one side or the other, which may turn out to be crucial.

"Your job? As I said, protect Harry and Ron. Try to stop them finding out more. We can't simply keep them locked away safely; it would be impractical, would arouse suspicion, and would probably place them in even more danger, as they would be trapped should the castle protection fail. No, they must go about their daily school routine. My experience of Harry Potter is that he does considerably well when he is left to fend for himself. However, while he and Ron will be reasonably safe in the school itself, they should be kept, at all costs, away from the grounds. Minerva McGonagall will be seeing to this. It takes a lot of powerful magic to protect such a large place, to protect so much ... living energy, and we have not managed to secure strong enough wards over the grounds yet. Only enough to slow intruders down; not enough to stop them entirely.

"But should something go wrong, through no fault of your own I'm sure, the knowledge I am about to give you will be enough to set you on your way. You will be able to take on the danger - indeed, you may be forced to, if circumstances are such that the Ministry wizards cannot be alerted in time." Dumbledore paused, finally, and turned back to the red spellbook. 

Percy had kept stock still throughout this long explanation; his eyes were wide and round and serious. He watched Dumbledore open a drawer at his desk, and take out his wand; watched him look again at the spellbook. He had a vague suspicion that it was a bit of an act, merely to put him at his ease, and that Dumbledore knew the spell perfectly well already. 

"Mr Weasley. Now that you know all this, are you still prepared to take on this task? It is entirely your choice, and I shall not blame you should you change your mind. It is a heavy burden indeed ..." Percy paused, thinking. 

He was merely a junior in his job; he did paperwork and public relations. Not a fighter; academic by nature. _But being academic doesn't equal being useless, being helpless, being stuck in a pointless job while others are dying ... _

"Yes. I'll do it."

"Fair enough." Percy thought he saw a twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, a tiny smile of approval. "Now please stand still ... this won't hurt a bit ... isn't that what Muggle dentists say?"

"Er, I don't know, sir." _It's Hermione Granger's parents who are dentists ..._

and it's my father who's the Muggle expert, thought Percy, and smiled a little, fondly, thinking about how his dad sometimes bought Muggle shopping catalogues merely to look at all the new electronic gadgets, occasionally wistfully work out their price in Galleons. Another man working flat out for the resistance; another honest Ministry man. Dumbledore raised his wand. Percy winced a little, reflexively. 

"GUARDIUS!"

There was a gentle, breezy _whoosh!_, and then, something began to flow out of the tip of the wand. It looked like ... liquid glass, tumbling and falling over itself, in glassy bubbles and streams, as if the kettle had boiled but released flowing, lighter-than-light water instead of steam. Percy watched in fascination as it billowed towards him, flinging crystalline tendrils out around his figure. He leaned back a little, as it pushed towards his face, but when it touched, he was surprised to find out that it felt ... like nothing at all. Merely, perhaps, a slight warmth. It wrapped itself around every limb, pushed into every joint, wafted into _every_ crease of his clothing. He merely felt a dim sort of pressure as the protection spell pulled tight around his body; the smoke began to grow still, rippling down and straightening out. He watched as one last crease cascaded down his line of sight, and then all was still.

"Well, Percy, how do you feel?"

Percy heard the words clearly enough, but far off, carved on the air as if in miniature. There seemed to be a nothingness between him and them; he saw and heard everything clearly, even smelt the hot chocolate still - but it was decreased somehow in intensity, his senses seemed numbed. His brain was still working clearly, though, which he thought wryly, seemed apt. Percy had always relied on his intelligence to guide him. In fact ... his mind seemed sharpened, even, or perhaps it was the relative absence of any other feelings. He took a step forward: _yup, ground still there, legs still steady. _The thought ran like ticker-tape across his consciousness, and he became aware of his own breathing, echoing loud and clear. 

He glanced over to Dumbledore, by the desk, patiently waiting to tell him this amazingly dangerous bit of knowledge, and now holding the tiny Pensieve, which, Percy saw, had an equally tiny lid to it. In fact, it had ... wings? Like an overgrown Snitch. _Hmm ... maybe that spell has messed with my brain after all._ Percy wondered if Dumbledore could hear his thoughts too, they really were bloody loud. As if he were in a little, sealed transparent chamber, all by himself.

_Now what does that remind me of ..._

Percy smiled wryly to himself. Of course. From one of dad's Muggle catalogues, he'd seen it just the other day. They'd all had a laugh about it, "crazy Muggles" - he remembered Ron muttering darkly about putting Scabbers in one and rolling it off a cliff ...

A hamster ball.

A Muggle contraption, a plastic ball you fitted together to hold in a small pet rodent, so it could roll this way, roll that way, safe from danger, without touching the ground itself, plenty of air to breathe ... A little ridiculous, but safe - except when it got wedged somewhere, and then the hamster was trapped till someone came and rescued it ...

His wry chuckle rang loudly in his own ears as he walked towards Dumbledore and the Pensieve.


	3. Of Pensieves and Portkeys

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Author's note: 

Once again, I procrastinate on my many essays (and why, exactly, do teachers insist on giving homework over the holidays? Hello? _Holiday?_ Gahh!), and, instead, devote my energy to writing the next chapter. Er, soon, I'm really going to have to slow down on these ...

This chapter is long and was a little complicated to write, so sorry if it's a bit confusing at times. Any mistakes I made will be cleared up in author's notes like these, next time, so if you catch any, please point them out to me. Thank you Jen and vez for reviewing! :) 

Oh, and I found a way to put Remy in my story ... briefly ... broad grin Hope you like the cameo!

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Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing I tell you!

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Rating: This chapter is rated PG-13, I think ... (the American ratings are confusing me) ... for some swear words, though nothing your children won't have heard before. Hey, the "Harry Potter" movie had a kid saying "bloody" to a teacher, give me a break! :)

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Chapter 3:Of Pensieves and Portkeys

"Ugh - hey, Harry, do you know what happens if you add stewed hag's nails to a solution of armadillo bile in silver water?"

"Armadillo bile in silver water? They probably serve that as a cocktail at the Three Broomsticks, why don't you hop on down there and find out?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Come on, do you know?"

"Nope, sorry. Actually, do _you_ know whether lunar eclipses prevent werewolves from transforming? Or do you transform, then revert to human form at the eclipse, and then transform again when the moon reappears ... that would be rather inconvenient, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, especially if you were trying to bite someone at the time! Can you imagine?" 

Ron, Harry and Hermione were sitting in the comfortable armchairs, homework spread out before them. Well, not exactly: Hermione had already finished hers, and was curled up reading _"Durmstrang In Detail"_, occasionally casting an amused glance at the boys as they alternately squabbled, complained and joked over Potions and Defence Against The Dark Arts essays.

Ron was now impersonating a werewolf, although the dramatic effect of his ferocious roars and gestures was somewhat spoiled by the grin he wore. " 'Grargh, grargh ... oh, terribly sorry Mrs Smith!' 'Well, you should be, Professor Lupin! And you always seemed like such a nice man ...'" 

"Ron! You know Professor Lupin is extremely careful about transforming in a safe, locked place ... well, apart from that one time ... and he has _never_ bitten anyone!" Despite herself, though, Hermione was laughing at the picture Ron had conjured up.

"Hey, there's another thing for Lupin to worry about! If he transformed back mid-moon, he'd be stark naked too ... Now there's a horrible thought for poor Mrs Smith!"

"RON!" Hermione scolded, though blushing furiously.

"Ooooh, Hermione's gone red ... perhaps it's not such a horrible thought for you then..." 

"Ron," she warned, leaning forward and brandishing "_Durmstrang In Detail" _menacingly, though still blushing. "I have a book, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"You wouldn't throw a present from dear Vicky-poos, would you - OW!"

"She would." 

Ron rubbed his arm, where the heavy leather-bound volume had landed, but in a tone of approval said, "Well, our Hermione's in fighting spirit today then!"

"Indeed," Hermione grinned, flopping back into the armchair. "Well, if I had a bit more fight in me, I'd have already tried to beat your little secret out of you by force! Come on, you two, what _is _it you keep whispering about and won't tell me?" Her tone was playful, but there was a hint of aggrievement in it. Ron stole a look at Harry, who was frowning now. There was a pause.

"Er..."

Hermione understood; she'd touched a sore spot. She felt guilty about spoiling the banter of the moment, and yet, it hadn't really been her fault, had it? She had every right to inquire what was going on, why she was being left out of it, and - she suspected - why Percy, here on "Ministry business", also seemed to be trying to find out what they were doing. 

_Perhaps it's because I'm a girl ... that's never mattered before, though ... perhaps it's because I'm Head Girl? Perhaps they think I'm going to tell on them. Would I, though, if I thought it was right to do so?_ Hermione mused. She'd certainly be in trouble with them if they realised what she'd already done, that very afternoon, to stop them sneaking around ... She watched the other two. Harry had gone silently back to his quill, but he seemed to be thinking of other things. Ron looked awkwardly from face to face, and then decided to try to salvage the situation, for which Hermione was grateful.

"Anyway, Harry, er, you'd better owl Lupin and ask him about that eclipse thingy ... or try the library," he said, with a wink at Hermione.

"Nah," Harry said, setting down his quill again with a speed that suggested he really hadn't been thinking about homework, "he's away, on Auror business."

There was a quiet moment, as the three wondered what danger their friend - and no doubt others too - was currently facing in the name of good. What responsibility he had over the lives of so many, risking his own life for some dangerous scheme which just could work, but possibly wouldn't. Whether he thought of returning to Hogwarts when - if - it was all over. If he was still alive.

There was a creak, as the portrait hole opened. Percy's lanky frame came through it, bringing with it a typically worried-looking face. He smiled a greeting at the three friends, though, and then walked on up to the dormitory, where he'd been given a bed for his stay at Hogwarts. 

Ron scowled.

"Wish _he _could be away, on "Ministry business" ... hopefully forever ..."

"Ron!" Hermione frowned.

"Well, it's true," Ron exclaimed, defensively. "He keeps snooping around, telling me off, acting like I'm still his little brother and he's responsible for me!"

"Well, you _are_ still his little brother," Hermione pointed out, getting up from the armchair, and leaning over to retrieve her book from Ron. She picked up her bag; Ron thought he caught a glimpse of something silvery shine in it for a moment, but then she swung it over her shoulder, and he dismissed the thought. "And he's right to stop you sneaking out, if Professor McGonagall said you weren't to leave the school building." She turned to leave. "Stop pulling faces at me behind my back, Ron."

"How did you - nevermind. Where're you going, anyway?"

"Up to the girls' dormitory, I'm going to drop my book off up there." She left, and took the steps two at a time.

"Yeah, well, watch out for young ghosts with cameras," Ron muttered at her retreating back. "Can ghosts _take _photographs, though? Harry?" he asked his friend. Harry, however, was thinking hard.

"Ron ... Hermione's right, you know."

"What? About Percy bossing me around?"

"No, about Percy following us around. He _has _beentrying to stop us getting out into the grounds. Now, if he's here on behalf of the Ministry, odds are it has something to do with Iain, and remember how Iain was killed outside the school walls? McGonagall's probably in on this too. There has to be something in the grounds that the powers that be don't want us to find out about."

"Therefore ..." Ron said, a grin dawning on his face, "we have a duty, as fearless investigators, to go and find it regardless."

"Exactly. But Percy won't let us."

"Yes, well," Ron said, still smiling mischievously, "there are ways of stopping him. I believe Fred and George once tried to shut him in a pyramid ... but I suspect the boys' dormitory will do just as well."

"Excellent, my dear Watson." Harry grinned, already getting up and retrieving his wand from the table. "We can leave our things here."

"Yeah, OK ... Harry, who's Watson?"

-----------------------------------------

Percy sat on his bed. The Pensieve sat beside him, its lid now locked tight, wings drooping by its sides. He'd nicknamed it Penny, after an ex-girlfriend - partly because he wondered if it would fly away and leave him for someone else if he left the windows open.

He was thinking about his brother. Wondering why Ron hated him so much. Wondering if Ron had a case for hating him. As he'd walked up the steps to the dorm, earlier, he'd distinctly heard his brother expressing a wish that he would "go away ... hopefully forever". Had heard him mimicking his own formal tones as he pronounced _"Min_istry business". 

Percy wondered how he had come to be so distant from his brother. Surely they had been closer in school ... and yet, he thought sadly, that was probably just because they were forced to stay in the same building. Ron had probably been ecstatic to see him leave after his seventh year. Percy wondered, with a hint of bitterness, if Ron would miss him at all if he did leave, forever ... or was killed.

Pushing these morbid thoughts aside, he tried to be more positive. Maybe he should go and talk to Ron. He couldn't explain why he had to "protect" them, fair enough, but maybe he could make him see that it was because Percy cared, that it was for his own good. 

No, that would sound pompous. _Maybe I am pompous,_ he thought. _My best shot is Hermione convincing him I'm only trying to help. _He'd heard her tell Ron off, faintly, as he reached the dormitory with an odd mixture of anger, shame and sadness thumping in his chest. Percy wondered if she ever felt priggish too, for not breaking the rules like her friends. Probably not. She was too confident and well-adjusted for that.

Still. He was going to try to talk to Ron. "I am, you know." Percy said aloud to the Pensieve. He'd gotten into the habit of talking to it sometimes, for lack of friends or family who wouldn't run screaming at the sight of him. The Pensieve fluttered its wings as if in agreement. Percy thought he'd convinced it better than he had himself. He got up, straightening out his robes with a compulsive, automatic motion, and walked towards the door, pausing at the handle.

He thought of the things he'd say to Ron; how they'd renew their brotherly bond which, as far as Percy could remember, probably died when Ron was one. Tell him, and Harry too, that his experience of the Dark Forces, the fear and paranoia he saw everyday at the Ministry, made him value friendship and family so much more ...

He pushed the handle. Stuck. Perhaps he hadn't exerted enough force, his senses being dulled.

He tried again. Then tried to open it with his wand. "Alohomora!"

Nothing. He tugged the handle again, rattling it desperately. He kicked the door, feeling nothing but a tiny twinge of pain somewhere far below where his foot should be. Then, he started kicking the door furiously, rattling the handle, bashing his shoulder against the wood. And shouting. Very very loudly.

"RON, YOU LITTLE BASTARD! I KNOW YOU DID THIS! LET ME OUT RIGHT THIS VERY INSTANT OR I'LL TELL YOUR MOTHER, MCGONAGALL, AND THE WHOLE BLOODY HOGWARTS STAFF!!"

He hurled himself against the door again, feeling barely any pain due to the Protection Spell; instead anger and mostly, a growing surge of fear. They'd probably locked him in so as to escape to the grounds ... The door wouldn't budge. He went into a panic, hitting and kicking the door, the fear threatening to choke him if he didn't open it soon.

"Alohomora!" It opened mid-kick (and mid-expletive), and Percy fell forward onto something soft and warm, with wriggling arms and legs.

Hermione.

"Percy, calm down! They locked it so it couldn't be opened from the inside," she explained, struggling to sit up.

Without yet moving, Percy asked in a tight voice, "Where are Harry and Ron?" 

Hermione's eyes were wide with confusion as she stared up at the normally dignified young man, his face inches away from hers. "I - I met them in the common room, they had their brooms, they said McGonagall had dropped by while I was upstairs and told them they were allowed to practice for the match against Hufflepuff ... it made sense, McGonagall is Head of Gryffindor after all, and Hufflepuff are, er, tough ... then I heard you shouting ..." she trailed off weakly, vaguely aware she sounded stupid.

Percy felt a cold horror tighten his insides; this was what he had anticipated. McGonagall would never have allowed them to leave, she knew what the stakes were, how strong the danger was. Dumbledore had explained it to him: with experience good and bad, with powerful magic and powerful emotion, old wizards develop their own sort of protection against darkness. McGonagall, being somewhat younger, wasn't quite as well prepared, and therefore didn't know it all. She didn't know how to enter Dengwert - the one cardinal secret. But she knew enough.

Percy dimly realised he was still lying on top of a very scared Hermione. Under different circumstances, this would have been very embarrassing. He looked at Hermione, a question forming on her lips, a lock of hair falling across her face. No. It _was _embarrassing. He got up quickly, ears turning red.

"They lied. McGonagall wouldn't have allowed them. They're in danger." He grabbed her hand and helped her up. Worry dawned on her face. With surprising lucidity, Percy remembered the Pensieve, and rushed in to fetch it. Hermione automatically felt her satchel, as if checking something was still there. Percy dashed out again, and began to run down the stairs. 

Hermione gaped, somewhat annoyed. "HEY! Wait for me!"

She ran off after him, her backpack bobbing behind her. Percy had longer legs though, and he was running with a truly maniacal speed. "Percy!" she panted, as they reached the Hall. "Percy, why would they be in danger playing Quidditch? Well, other than the usual danger of falling and breaking your neck ..."she added.

"McGonagall forbade it - trust me, Hermione!" he called back, still running madly.

"All right", she muttered quietly, clattering on out of the main doors, open on a sky of brilliant blue. She dashed off behind the lanky young man, across the lawns, running towards the spot where Harry and Ron were vaguely visible talking to someone, near the edges of the Forest.

A small, redheaded figure peered out over the top of the banisters. Ginny Weasley watched her brother go hurtling out the door, with a dishevelled Hermione and her bag following. She felt a definite twinge of jealousy mix with her worry at what Percy had said. Hermione obviously had more to do with the issue than his own sister. Typically, the two of them hadn't even noticed her sitting there as they ran out through the common room. _Story of my life. _

She ran purposefully down the steps to the deserted Hall, pausing at the doors to see where they'd gone. Something seemed to rustle just behind her, and she spun round to look. There was nobody there. 

"Probably just the breeze." She set off at a jog behind the running figures.

---------------------------------------------------------

"Well, _hello _there, dear friends -"

"- prospective customers"

"Just popping by to shamelessly plug our new catalogues to the up-and-coming generation of mischiefmakers,"

"naturally, on a weekend. Prime time for causing mayhem"

"Especially with our new"

"Improved"

"Weasleyfied"

"Zonko's New Audio Range"

"OMNIOCULARS!"

_Oh good, oh good, they're talking to Fred and George - wait, what the hell are Fred and George doing here? Gahh, nevermind ... at least they're not talking about Dengwert ... "hello, I'm over here, please come and kill me" - oh, no!_

"Yeah, hi Fred, hi George"

"we're just on our way to, um"

"well, actually, we're not supposed to be out on the grounds, we're sneaking out"

"Percy's been spying on us"

"we shut him in the dormitory"

"EXCELLENT!"

"We have taught you well, young brother"

"you too, Harry"

"why has young Weatherby been around here though?"

"Er ... Ministry business of course ... hey, let's have a look at those Omnioculars"

"Well of course - George, the bag"

"Harry!"

"Look, Percy's coming - and Hermione, too. Damn, I bet she let him out. Should have put a Silencing Charm on the door too."

"Look, Ginny's on her way here too. Let's run, quick. C'mon - do you want to find out about Dengwert or not?"

_No! They've seen me - they're talking amongst themselves, and I bet I know what about. This is - dreadful! There must be more creatures posted near Hogwarts now, after Iain ... the only thing that's stopping them from killing Harry and Ron this instant is the wards - but they're not strong enough, they're not ... It's now or never. Either sacrifice Harry and Ron, or ... leave. Now. Ourselves. Could I take them back to the castle? No, the creatures must have sensed them by now, they'll be stuck there forever or until the wards are broken ... or worse, they'll sneak out again. No, there's only one thing to do. Oh dear, oh my, oh - SHIT!_

"Oh look, Percy went flying - nope, he's up again ..."

"... and about to reach us."

Percy came dashing up to the little group. Fred and George continued fiddling with the Omnioculars, as absorbed and careful as the proud new owners of Zonko's Joke Shop should indeed have in handling this precious merchandise. Ron was glaring at him, Harry looking serious as always. Hermione reached them, her "I'm disappointed in you" face tinged with fear. Ginny crept up quietly behind.

George looked up. "Hello, dear brother. I don't suppose you'd also be interested in a pair of Audio Omnioculars?"

"Ron. Harry. What were you talking about just now?" Despite himself, Percy knew he had slipped into his authoritative older brother tone. It was the wrong move; Ron snapped.

"Oh, something so important I doubt the Ministry would tell a useless, _junior_ quill-pusher like you," he spat angrily. "Weatherby," he added as an afterthought, glaring at Percy with the slightly defensive air that meant he knew he was being irrational and just didn't care so don't tell me off for it, ok?

"Follow me. Quickly." Percy's voice was tight and hard. 

"NO!" Ron shouted, assuming Percy was going to take them back into the school. "Stop bossing me around already! I'm sick of it!"

BAM! 

Ron suddenly found himself looking up from the ground, a little dazed, pretty surprised and extremely angry, not to mention rubbing his ribcage from the left hook Percy had just thrown him. Everyone wore the same horrified expression; Percy looked more frightened and serious than Ron had ever seen him.

"When have I ever hit you before? Listen to me, Ron, this is no joke, we have to run, and we have to go NOW! Follow me. FOLLOW!" he shouted, and the others began, tentatively, to run. Percy, again with surprising strength, yanked Ron up from the ground, muttering "sorry ... had to get your attention". Then he bounded off ahead, leading the group. Ron began to follow, thinking Percy had certainly achieved his aim.

The lanky redheaded boy flew on ahead, occasionally waving his arm back at the others in a vague "follow me" gesture. He was followed by Ginny, who was surprisingly fast, then Harry and the twins, then Ron and Hermione with her heavy satchel. They were running deep into the Forest ... Hermione wondered, and she was sure everyone else was wondering too, where on earth they were going, and why. There had been no point in arguing, though. The look on Percy's face had frightened her; she had practically felt the waves of horror wafting off him. It chilled her through, and she found herself looking back at the retreating sight of the school grounds with apprehension, as if something horrible could be in hot pursuit.

Percy had no such wonder in his head. He knew there was something following them - could feel it struggling against his consciousness. He heard his panting breath filling up the "hamster ball", felt the nausea of nearby evil, felt the extreme danger and manic exhilaration of a life or death situation. Well, no - he was safe - but he didn't think he could bear living a second after seeing his friends dead. _Friends ...? _The Pensieve jogged in his hand, its wings pushing against his fingers. Intuitively knowing it would behave, he released it, and after straightening out its crumpled wings, it pushed ahead of him, flying by his side. "Thanks," he muttered softly as he ran.

The massive black oak Dumbledore had told him of appeared in a clearing ahead of him. He caught a flash of red and gold; a tatty old Gryffindor scarf hanging on a branch just high enough for a tall boy - like him - to reach. The Portkey. Dumbledore had discussed this with him; they'd agreed that should Harry and Ron escape and Percy decide to take the fateful step into Dengwert, a Portkey would be the easiest solution. Far enough to not be easily found unless it was being searched for; near enough to reach in a crisis; ordinary enough for someone to assume it had been left there by an unruly student. 

Percy halted just short of the tree, the others falling into place around him. He reached up for the scarf, and as his fingers grasped hold, he felt something snap in the air, something loosen. The nausea, the possibility of fear and evil pushing at the boundaries of his spell suddenly became real, and solid. The wards had been broken. It was a matter of seconds.

"Take hold. Everyone," he commanded hoarsely. They obeyed. Percy looked around at the frightened and confused faces; at Hermione, his strong ally, and Ginny, his silent sister, flanking him on his left and right respectively. 

"Bighead Boy." He'd chosen the password.

There was a yanking in his stomach; he could feel it even through the Spell. The world began spinning, trees, bushes, people flew past his vision, vague pictures from some sort of nightmare.

Two things happened. Ginny felt something jab her in her right elbow. "OW! Wha-" There was nobody to her right; but she could have sworn someone muttered "sorry" quietly.

Percy, for his part, let himself fall into the mad motion of the Portkey, his nausea spinning too, mixing with the whirling air. His fear diluted and spread, enveloped him, spun around his mind, releasing the taut strings that bound him to the normal world. But, just as they left the trees altogether, he saw them - just at the very edge of the forest, the edge of his vision - but it wasn't like seeing, it was more like feeling their presence. And their presence was like liquid darkness, rushing towards them, roaring grotesquely, the Kedavra curse embodied. But not green, not like the pain and the killing - more like the black nothingness of death itself. He felt it approach, too weak to do anything but trust to the Portkey as it dragged them away, far from the reach of the darkness, which tugged and lapped in vain behind before disappearing from his "sight" and from his consciousness.

And then he was falling, falling, falling.


	4. Strange Land

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Author's note:

As feared, homework has fallen on me like the proverbial ton of bricks. So, I'm trying to sneak out this chapter in my breaks ... just bear with me. I know it's been a ridiculously long time, especially considering the other chapters were uploaded within days of each other, but too many essays had exhausted my appetite for staying up late typing and burning my eyes out with the glare from the screen ... seeing as I have to do that for school anyway ... argh, that's what A-Level does to you, or me anyway... 

Thank you jen, Kivessa, blackmagic, Domixt, leklek, Lady PC, Venus Saturnalia, CharmedHPfanatik and MischiefMagnet for reviewing the last chapter! Anyway, here is - FINALLY - chapter 4...

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Disclaimer:

It all belongs to the genius J.K. Rowling; except maybe Dengwert. And the song clip is from the equally magnificent U2 - strictly speaking, it's irrelevant to the story, but it did partly inspire me to write it. Bless their woolly socks!

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Rating: PG-13, for language if anything.

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Chapter 4:Strange Land

__

Stranger, stranger in a strange land

He looked at me like I was the one who should run

"OUCH!"

"get OFF me, Fred!"

"er, actually Hermione, it's George"

"GET OFF -"

"ok"

"ow, my elbow"

"- what _is _it with Weasleys falling on top of me today?"

"er, Hermione? Could you just sort of shift your leg a little, I can't move"

"oh, sorry Percy"

"Hey, Potter! Is that a broomstick in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

The wriggling, loudly complaining pile of arms and legs froze; making a rather interesting picture, since on closer inspection, there was a leg too many. Unfortunately, Harry had a pretty good idea who it could belong to, given that drawl.

"Well, fortunately I can't exactly see you, Malfoy." 

Another leg appeared; then a torso, then a languid arm threw off the Invisibility Cloak completely to reveal a a sneering face, beneath a slightly ruffled silver-blond mop. Draco Malfoy was lying on the ground near the edge of the sprawling group, beside Ginny, who stared at him with her mouth agape. The others clambered out of their undignified position, looking at each other and at Malfoy in bewilderment as they stood up. Percy, however, walked away, staring around at the place they'd landed in. Hermione followed his gaze; then followed him.

Ron was the first to speak. "Percy," he said nonchalantly over his shoulder, without breaking his disdainful stare at Malfoy, "There had better be a bloody good reason for us being stranded here with Ferret-boy."

Malfoy glared back scornfully. "Yes, there had be, Weasley. I didn't sign up for this impromptu holiday with the B-Team. There I was, just trying to get you in trouble for sneaking out, and spy on your Quidditch tactics - and suddenly your brother decides to go berserk and scare the crap out of everyone for no discernible reason, then whisk us off to Never-Never-Land here for, again, no reason whatsoever. Always knew your whole family was insane. Where the hell are we, anyway?" he asked, getting up and brushing bits of grass off his robes, staring around expectantly.

Ron, scowling, tried to think of a snappy comeback to Malfoy's taunts, but instead he found himself wondering as well. He looked around for Percy and spotted him standing with Hermione a little way away from the group, watching ... one of the most amazing views Ron had ever seen. 

The Portkey had deposited them on a grassy knoll, which, after Ron's dazedly turning around to look, proved to be a certain distance up a massive, climbing wave of rock: a mountain with the snow-covered tips of its grey fingers reaching high up beyond the clouds and beyond sight. It was sparsely covered with scrubs of thistle and twisted bushes of faded hue, further up, although by the point where the group stood, this scrawned shrubbery had given way to rough grass and the occasional ancient tree.

Beneath the hill were many other hills; tumbling steeply over one another down to the bottom of the deepest valley Ron had ever seen. Mountains rose to the far left and right, covered equally thickly in dark trees at the bottom and snow further up. Their crisp silhouettes framed the sky, which, he noted thankfully, was at least the same one as that which they'd left behind in Hogwarts. The valley ... was a perfectly carved groove, with the slopes rising in geometrical curves from the narrow central plateau, crawling up and steepening as they reached their white crests. 

The massiveness of it all overwhelmed him, and he was forced to sit down, wondering if he could add vertigo to his list of phobias. To his left, he could see the twins, silent for once, look about themselves as he'd done, confused and a little impatient, as if expecting some answer to rise out of the deep. Ginny sat where she'd fallen, gazing down at the vast trailing forest with its almost glassy darkness, with wonderment in her eyes. Harry and Malfoy wore identical stances; arms folded one in front of the other, frowning, they seemed to be looking inwards to some unseen question.

It was only a matter of time before somebody asked Percy where they were, what was going on and what _precisely _he intended to do about it. While waiting patiently for the question, however, he had taken the opportunity to walk to the end of the knoll, before it sloped down beneath, to survey the land of Dengwert. Hermione stood silently beside him.

The valley - certainly not so narrow as it seemed from this height - snaked away, fanning out in the far distance. The mountains flanking it washed away into a sea of rocky dunes into the horizon, other crisper valleys, other softer mountains - and one black, impassive wall. 

For beyond where the valley's sharp groove branched out into hairline cracks through the landscape, there was one other mountain. It was faded by mist from this great distance, but Percy could still feel the dark solidity of the huge rock, could feel that thick texture as if he was brushing his fingers up and down its long sides; better, even, since his skin was blunted through the Spell. He could sense it. He could sense the way all else, all the other life in the valley, rebounded against this one rock, falling back weakly. A rock in the middle of a stream. 

He noted, too, that between the flaky edges of the valley and the abrupt rise of the mountain, the forest faded too. So did the shrubbery ... so did, even, the soil. The view from the mountainside was of a sea of rock, with patches of green, of white, of grey - rising more steeply here, sinking more gently there. And one massive tidal wave, towering black, straight ahead ... and, one featureless trough. At the foot of the wave was the only flat plain in sight. It was tiny in comparison with what crept up behind it, but instinctively Percy knew that it was truly far from small. That it was vast and cold and foreboding - that it was flat and grey and hard, as hard as that mountain - that it was harsh - that it was dead - that it - contained the - the -

"Percy!" He turned from the far-off smudge of grey, pressing a hand to his head, facing his angry brothers. Hermione was fearful to see that the agitation was back in his eyes, after being replaced briefly by fascination, even admiration of the strange beauty of the land. She noticed the Pensieve for the first time, hovering like an obedient hummingbird at his side.

Fred and George stood side by side, annoyance and curiosity blending in their expressions. The others had also turned to watch. 

"Percy, could you kindly explain just what the bloody hell is going on?"

That was the one thing Percy could not do. He groaned inwardly, worried his brothers wouldn't take no for an answer, wondering how he was going to do this, feeling guilty that he'd dragged them all into this. And yet, there was no way he could have left anyone behind - who knew which of the others had heard? Not to mention that there was strength in numbers...

With these thoughts jumbling through his brain, Percy nevertheless kept his face impassive and raised a steely tone to his voice. Prefect training.

"There is a great danger near Hogwarts - it has already taken one boy's life." _Don't sound too pompous, my man._ Percy paused, and continued in a quieter tone, "As I'm sure you all know, I was in Hogwarts on Ministry business" - an involuntary glance towards Ron, who squirmed guiltily - "and I was given orders to protect you all. It became necessary to do just that, on the school grounds before. We're here because it's safer here, and ... I can't tell you why, because, it's, er, confidential Ministry, erm, stuff." The others looked quizzically at the vast, rugged landscape. Percy cringed inwardly. He wondered quickly whether he should continue with his commanding-leader act, or explain as much as he could to them. 

He waited for the questions to arrive, but none did - in truth, he was rather disappointed at the lack of Weasley spirit present. Ron was still making a concerted effort not to look over the precipice, while Ginny was gazing down into the forest. The twins looked at each other, at Percy, at their surroundings. _I bet they think it has to be true - why else would snotty Percy voluntarily go on a trip to the great outdoors?_ Percy thought, then berated himself for being so uncharitable. He also felt slightly worried that he was getting used to the echoing of his thoughts in his "hamster ball" - it was comforting, like having a radio on or ...

"Percy?"

Hermione. She was still standing by him. She spoke quietly, so that the others wouldn't hear; she felt that Percy was keeping something back and would not take kindly to the others being alerted to this. "What are you trying to protect us from, exactly?"

Percy sighed, and took her arm gently, leading her away from the group and keeping her close. So she had asked the dreaded question - he didn't want the others to hear, too. Hermione was also very aware of how tall he was beside her, and she was feeling a little intimidated by this proximity. He turned his face to her, big grave-looking brown eyes peering at her. Hermione felt a sudden, irrational urge to giggle, probably brought on by the terrible seriousness of it all ... probably.

"Hermione, listen. We're in danger here too. I can't tell you or the others why, or it will place you in danger too. That's about as much as I can explain, and you have to trust me on this."

"But wouldn't we be safer if we were prepared?"

"You'd think ..." he frowned. "But no, actually. I - I can't explain it to you. You just have to trust me, just ... trust me," he finished lamely, wondering if he even trusted himself. To his surprise, Hermione nodded.

"I will." His eyes widened with bemusement, though he quickly reassumed his grave expression. She wanted to laugh again. "One word of advice, though - go easy on the "Ministry business" thing, I don't think that argument, er, carries much weight with them. I do suggest you find some way of explaining things as much as possible. I trust you know what you're doing, but believe me, it won't be long before people start asking questions."

"Will you be one of those people?"

"Probably," she frowned. "This is scarier than any of us - particularly Malfoy over there - are letting on, I'm sure, but, Percy, you're - you're a Ministry worker!" He winced inwardly at the sudden pain of a label he'd heard so many times. 

But Hermione wasn't mocking, she was serious as could be. She waved a hand ineffectually, "you're, you work with danger all the time." _James Bond, then_. "well, anyway - I've never seen you like this before." Percy found himself wondering, fleetingly, how she'd perceived him before. 

"You're scared, too; that's why I'm trusting you, for now. I'll just," she shrugged, "try to convince everyone else."

There was a pause, the breeze carried scraps of voices over from the others. Then, Percy surprised them both by breaking into a glad grin. "Thanks, Hermione. You couldn't be helping more." He realised he was still holding onto her arm, and let it go hastily. Then he turned and walked back to his brothers, who were waiting to know what came next. 

Hermione, for her part, wondered why she had been so quick to trust him anyway. Perhaps it was an inbuilt obedience of authority figures - _you'd think I'd have got rid of that, hanging around with those two ... _Thinking of which, she noticed that Ron was giving her an odd look - since when had he been watching?

She turned away quickly, wondering if maybe there wasn't something else. Something indefinable about Percy told her he was telling the truth. And yet - Hermione always tried to keep her judgement objective but - did she just really want to trust him? Since she'd "saved" him this morning, been dragged along as an ally, been _fallen _on by him...

Oh dear. 

He had been rescued by her, had fallen on her, and had whisked her off to another world ... all in one day. Certainly not enough to form a crush on ... in just one day? But there was no denying it: not a crush, but an awareness, and yes, formed in mere hours. Suddenly she found herself his only ally among all their friends trapped in the bizarre situation: because she could not relate, suddenly, to Fred and George's impatient, anxious interrogations, because she had seen the glassy fear shot through Percy's eyes when he'd heard Harry and Ron had escaped. Because she felt danger radiating off him in dark waves. He was laid open to her in a way she'd never seen before, elevated suddenly from acquaintance to friend - to person, not "indeterminate role model / friend's sibling". And being after all a fairly normal girl (who _did _have a mild crush on Professor Lupin, thank you very much) - suddenly Percy was, amazingly, a boy as well.

_How irrational_, she thought annoyedly (and not for the first time in her life), then realised she was still standing there alone, blushed, and went to join the group.

When she got there, Percy and the twins were arguing. They had regained a bit of their usual rebelliousness, particularly regarding Percy, while he'd been away. Indeed, Ron, observing the scene, could have explained that this was probably _because _he'd been talking to her and not them. A betrayal of Weasley solidarity, perhaps. 

Percy, for his part, was getting flustered, and when he got flustered he got long-winded. Currently, he was throwing out tangled lines of reasoning in which the words "danger" and "Ministry" featured prominently. His neck and ears were sanded with red, his shoulders pressed with tension, poised as a teacher trying desperately to explain some essential point in the last five minutes of the lesson.

Hermione walked up, glancing over at the two remaining Weasleys and Harry, watching the familiar workings of the sibling argument; Draco too, with the idle engrossment of someone reading the back of a cereal packet for lack of anything else. She felt the need to say something, anything, in Percy's defense. He was just as thrown by this weird place as everyone else, but while Ginny went silent, Malfoy indifferent, Ron wry and Fred and George angry, Percy collapsed in on himself. Shrinking down to a core of dignity inside a big sack of babble, about to be shot full of holes by said brothers.

"People -"

Nothing. Argh.

"WEASLEYS!" Heads turned, sentences hanging on the next breath. She took the brief pause to launch into a diatribe of her own, the loud earnestness and "Hogwarts: A History"-promotional-campaign voice another familiar constant in all the strangeness. 

"Almost like home." Ron said to Harry.

"... and we're here whether you like it or not, do you _honestly _think your brother would drag you to the wilds of nowhere for kicks? There's something wrong in Hogwarts, you know it, so does he and more besides, so why don't you trust him?"

"Why are you so eager to? The Ministry is not what it used to be, it's not safe! Dad knows it, but Percy ..." 

The pause was enough; it blew Hermione's argument back from her lips. Percy stood still. The twins combined defensiveness and discomfort in their stance: the dark idea escaped was now alien in the bland air. 

Hermione's retort sprung out as if on elastic, with the tang of fear as well as anger. 

"He's your _brother!_" Five minutes in this place and they were already suspicious of each other. It went far beyond the understandable impatience and curiousity, or sibling rivalry. 

Pause. Attention, like magnets, was now drawn to that invisible point of decision soon approaching.

"Do we - you - know where we're going?

"Yes. Down through the valley, the mountains are too treacherous and the forest will provide us with all we need. Just, straight ahead." Mundane details blunted the tension of the moment, and the next words came with inevitable relief.

"Let's go."

There was another pause, then instinctively, people began to move. The group drew in on themselves, picked their way down the steep slopes, Percy leading the way with Ron and Hermione flanking him. The valley stretched before them, a plate of moss over scratched rock, surging into the horizons. Immense glass sky above had a peculiarly insulating effect, like distance seen through clean windows. And, far off, in this white haze, the vast mountain watched the descending strangers like a beacon of negative light, the stained grey plain stretching out beneath, curling into the far ends of the silent valley.


	5. Endurance

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A/N

OK, it's finally done! The first draft of this chapter was completed ages ago, but I wasn't sure about uploading it till I was completely happy with it, and I couldn't polish it during my exams (my flow of creative juices has been totally shot to hell by the A-Levels). Shouldn't even have _written _it during the run-up to the exams, but hey, here's hoping that in three weeks (aghh!! So near!!!) I'll find they didn't do my grades any damage …

I know my summer holidays started ages ago, but the honest truth is, I haven't been able to find motivation … some unresolved issues to deal with, and also the all-pervasive thought that I just wanted to relax after all that … But this little voice in my head told me to come back to the story, and when I did, I remembered why I wanted to leave off writing my essays to write this instead! So, anyway, here's the next chapter - thanks jen, blackmagic, Lady PC, Jessica and Kala Phoenix for reviewing the last one! Truly, you make my day! 

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Disclaimer

Everything belongs to the wonderful J.K.R … who could be even more wonderful STILL if she please please please (a) doesn't kill Lupin (shut up Dominic!) and (b) writes book 5 a teensy bit quicker … now after that shocking moment of insubordination, I return to my grovelling position at her metaphorical feet, and thank her humbly for the use of these lovely characters. Ahem.

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Rating

PG-13, I think … 

Chapter 5"Endurance"

__

This is a real forest. 

The Forbidden Forest is a forest too, of course, with trees and shadows and magical creatures great and small enough to satisfy anybody but Hagrid. But it's not this. This stretches out far beyond safe school grounds, or safe school rules. It's all around us and has been for days now – you could see it from that hill, it blankets the entire valley. It's like a sea, and we're sinking fast. But I like sinking into this, or rather, there's some important reason why we must sink. We're going somewhere, and I don't know why or how, or when we're going to get there.

Only Percy seems to know. He's got this invisible mark on him. I trust that mark, but I'm not privy to the secret of it. For once, neither are my brothers, and I almost feel sorry for them. They don't have a clue what's going on any more than I do. So, even though they may not have realised yet, I'm with them. Harry, too. He's as impatient as they are, or more ... I think I know Harry by now.

The odd one out is Hermione, as I wrote last time. It's not that she's stopped being part of her usual trio, more like … it's not just their adventure, this time. We're all here, and apart from Percy, we have no real idea what's needed, and of whom. All we know is who we are. Hermione's the link between both sides, and I think she knows it, and I don't think she knows what to make of this bizarre situation anymore than I do. Though bless her, she's rising to the challenge like another exam to pass, whether that's a good thing or a bad thing: good luck to her! Me, I'm just following; it's no less worthy a task being her slave labour.

In all honesty, we've more or less accepted her organisation too. Hermione makes a lot of sense sometimes, and Percy's away with the fairies right now. Metaphorically speaking of course – in reality, we all are, the place is bloody infested with them! 

I've never seen such an abundance of magical creatures before, even though nothing big or dangerous … so much magic … there really is an atmosphere to this forest, you can feel it, not quite physically, yet somewhere just brushing your nerves. I think we all feel it, I think that's what's kept pulling us along for almost a week without mutiny. I also happen to think that's what's going to make the explosion, when it comes, even more spectacular, like that argument on the hill. Something's going to give in our little tribe, and I'm still too fascinated by guessing what to want to be any part of it.

I'll bet my entire wardrobe (oh, how I took you for granted) the quest/mission/camping-trip has something to do with Voldemort. I think I know him, too. That's why it's so easy to sink and swim in this sea we're in: to fall into this mission and cope. The two go together. Can't fight an enemy from home. I never want to see or be near Tom Riddle again, but if he's there, I need to keep moving, keep doing things to stop him getting nearer. In that sense, I don't care what this trip is for, as long as it's useful in some way. And Percy always likes being useful. 

We all have to cope ... I don't want to be protected any more ...

Better stop moping now. Going to go with Fred and George, find a bit more food and firewood and hopefully a Tesco's too, somewhere … the forest may be interesting, and exhilarating in an odd way, but if I don't get chocolate soon I'll start foaming at the mouth. It's nearing evening, so Hermione's sent Harry and Malfoy off ahead on their broomsticks, with the Omnioculars, to scout out our next camp location. She's talking to Percy now, they're going to wait here with Ron while we go, just a little trip, we already got some supplies before … Percy looks tired. From the inside out. 

Er, need to go now, Fred and George are getting antsy. Can't sit still, or ever ever ever shut up, it seems …

Ginny.

She folded her little book away into her small shoulder-bag. She'd taken to carrying it around with her wherever she went, foolish teenage girly habit as she herself admitted, but a lucky thing too, else she'd be writing with fairy-spit and leaves. Ginny got up –

"Ginny?" Hermione, looking a little nervous. "Er, Gin, listen, don't use up your entire book, just in case we need some of the paper later on, OK? For plans, or something …" She looked down towards Percy, sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her, with his usual worried look, staring vaguely toward Ginny. The Pensieve rested beside him, its wings sighing up and down almost imperceptibly in unison with its adopted owner. His brother, Ron, leaned against a tree-trunk nearby, and if he hadn't tried so hard to hide it, the curiosity and worry would have shone a visible ray out of his eyes.

Ginny frowned, but agreed to the suggestion. She turned away to her brothers, just as Hermione sat down beside Percy, peering into his anxiety with an intense look of her own, and searching out his worries in a voice too soft for others to hear. 

Fred and George led the way at first, through the thick brambles and gnarled old trunks. They knew what sort of trees to watch out for now, those that yielded fruit and those that tended to hide small animals. They, as the supposedly outsdoorsy types, had been appointed the jokingly-named "hunter-gatherer" role in the group, and Ginny had first volunteered to help them, then when denied because of her youth and (she suspected) her supposed "girliness", she kicked up an almighty tantrum. They caved; she smirked; then she set about proving her resilience and usefulness. Though it'd kill the twins to admit it.

It had nevertheless been hard for the three of them to stomach killing their prey – and yet as the group continued their slow-motion plunge into the valley, it became obvious they'd have to fend for themselves or die.

Still Ginny felt uneasy about using the Killing Curse, as they'd occasionally had to do (when rocks and shoes missed), in a place like this, so obviously magical. Like flicking a lighter near a gas leak. They trudged on a while, through the blank quiet of the trees, only occasionally pierced by the buzzing of fairies, making a slow way from the clearing where the others stood. They were too far to hear the gentle whirr of the stream the group was loosely following into the valley – though from the hilltop it had been invisible. There were no lakes in this uniform forest.

A large hare soon scurried out in front of the twins. George braced himself, rock in hand. Ginny shut her eyes – she loved "Watership Down" – and waited for the swift _thud! _that soon came falling on the soft dirt ahead. 

"Should be enough for today," said George, striding ahead to fetch the warm heap, just about hiding his own grimace. "We still have a bunch of nuts, too."

"Indeed we do," grinned Fred. "Well, except Ginny and Hermione." Ginny smacked him in the arm.

"Depends what kind of nuts you mean, dear brother. We have nuts of the mental sort as well. Percy, mainly." George half-smiled, and made to move on back down the path with his catch. Fred, however, had stopped.

"George?" Over Ginny's head. "If he's so nuts, why are we still following him?" His twin paused, but the sarcastic remarks caught between his teeth as he realised he had no true answer. Neither had the question been phrased as a joke. Their faces folded down into identical expressions of bemusement, the same confusion that had been lurking throughout, had come at them several times this week already, and been brushed aside every time. Out of some hidden sense of loyalty to the decision they made after coming through the portal, the decision to trust their brother. This time, though, Ginny sensed she was right: the questions were building up and they would not be quelled for long.

"Er. Well, he may be a fruitcake, but he's still a Weasley fruitcake, that means the very best and … fruitiest. We have to be here for a bloody good reason, I mean, it's Percy isn't it? Remember the time he came back crying from that Scouts weekend trip?" George wasn't smiling at the memory though. He was staring down at his shoes. As he stood, a drop of dark blood fell from the hare, onto the dirt. His expression grew more serious, and his thoughts were transparent – this wasn't any weekend trip.

Ginny waited and wondered if either of them was going to voice what she'd written earlier, what she secretly believed was in all their heads right now, whether they noticed or no. That the urgency of the mission was almost humming through the air right now, as they stood, befuddling logic and sharpening the senses. 

The twins were at a loss, and it was almost comical, though not in their usual way. They, indeed, responded to any situation with jokes or anger or a good hearty courage. Atmosphere they acknowledged but left others to deal with. Yet here they were, led by their oft-derided older brother into an uncharted wilderness where atmosphere was everything, following _his _orders and not being told what on earth they were doing, climbing trees and braining their supper like George of the bloody Jungle.

__

Gahh, thought Ginny, looking at George. _Wonder how long they'll take for that one._

The question was: how much longer would they trust Percy? The brothers had only drifted further apart in recent times, their diametrically-opposed careers illustrating sharply the different attitudes they had to the war. Percy battled the bureaucrats in his office, the stress hunching up his shoulders as he navigated the unseen lines of allegiance among the politicos of the wizarding world. Many shades of grey, surely soon to appear as well in his fiery hair. The twins sold escapism at cheap prices, and sheltered Resistance fighters in their cellar. They'd die before they'd rat on anyone, and they'd die just as easily in the subtle minefields of the elder brother's department. However, on one thing they agreed, though they barely realised it themselves. If an Avery or a Macnair or even a Malfoy, young or old, appeared at either the office or the joke shop, there was only one thing to do to keep integrity and job together. Smile between gritted teeth, and sell them a phony trick.

The overcast sky was now darkening, and the thawing light began to fade from the tree-tops. A soft breeze blew through the maze of woodland: trees the same thickness, hues and height since the beginning of their descent. Like the sea: a flowing sameness made up of infinitely unique ripples. A shiver followed, and Ginny felt again that strange presence. It made her feel more alive – or rather, it made her feel as if the balance of life had shifted within her. The magic was more apparent, thrumming with an eerie coolness down her skin.

The twins shook too, almost in unison. As if something had been loosed, their faces both relaxed slightly, into a more familiar expression of slightly resigned exasperation. Fred threw up his hands.

"Argh. So far, we're going fine. We had our incidents, yes, with finding and storing the water, the storm, the bloody Nifflers nicking the supplies, but so far, it's all right and obviously it's important to Percy. He'll tell us, sooner or later. But if we're going to be here much longer, he'd better tell us much sooner." He stepped forward to follow his brother, smiling ruefully at Ginny. "We're beginning to seem more like the Manson family than the Weasleys."

Ginny grinned back. In all truth she was relieved. The twins could well have worked themselves up into a temper right then, especially since they were alone (well, almost, she thought wryly). Good thing they gave poor Percy more of a chance. Again, she felt closer to them than before. And "poor Percy". Funny how this trip was making even the twins get introspective. Well, almost.

"Maybe it's something in the air," she mumbled, to herself, as they picked their way back to the clearing.

"Eh?"

"Nothing."

"Great. This bloody place is going to drive us _all _nuts. You're talking to yourself, I'm actually defending Percy – ergh – meanwhile "George of the Jungle" here is marching on ahead swinging that poxy rabbit as if he'd slain a Manticore!"

OK. So maybe the twins hadn't changed _that _much.

*** 

In a few minutes, they could again see the small patch of bareness – tiny enough to barely merit the term "clearing", and bracketed over with heavy, curving boughs now blotting out any remaining gleam in the evening air. Malfoy and Harry had not yet returned, and Hermione was pacing the ground (in circles) with a familiar expression of exasperation on her face, throwing occasional glances at what could be seen of the sky. There was a reasonable fear that the "scouts" had offed each other in an impromptu duel without witnesses. 

Both remaining Weasleys sat on a log nearby. If Ron was used to Hermione's temper (and had his own fair share of moods), Percy was soon learning about it. He looked a little alarmed, which was at least preferable to his recent favourites, "blank" and "tired". Another thing Ginny noticed was the small fire already crackling in front of them. Again she felt that slight tingle of worry at the obvious use of magic. This lonely, magical world made them all seem as clumsy as Muggles. 

Hermione spotted them as she turned round.

"Weasleys! Right, Harry and Malfoy have been gone for ages now, and frankly it's too late to move on any further tonight, or we'll get lost. We're barely going downhill anymore, so we can't follow the slope. And it's _cloudy_," she jabbed an accusatory finger up at the branches, "not that we'd be able to see a single sodding thing further than the next bloody tree anyway, even if it were a full moon." Ginny shook off the thought of werewolves, a scary if irrational idea out here in the magical wild, even if it was a bit devoid of human amusement for the other 29 days of the month_._ "So we're going to set up camp here, in fact, we're going to make supper here now as well. They love scouting, well they can scout out some grubs to eat, or something!" 

Ron, as usual, tried an ill-advised attempt to calm her down. "Come on, Herm, don't worry. The worst scenario is they fought to the death and left the bodies lying out there, and then the rest of us can have kebabs for a week." Hermione glared at him, and he shrank back.

"You're a scary woman."

"I fully intend it so."

Fred and George had moved into the centre of the patch, and were proceeding to skin the hare, with everyone else trying to look away. Most probably the twins, too, would have averted their eyes, had they not risked losing a finger in the process. It was a fiercely-kept secret that the young Fred had alternately cried and retched for three hours after he learnt the hard way that pet Puffskeins do not good Bludgers make.

All of a sudden, there was heard from above a whoosh of air, a clumsy crashing of branches, and two simultaneous strings of expletives. Everyone thankfully turned their eyes upwards from the carcass. Then, Harry and Malfoy half-floated, half-fell to the ground, just to the left of Ron. 

Hermione turned her most evil glare on them, and Malfoy pretended to make for his broom again. Ginny couldn't suppress a giggle, which made him turn and look at her, slightly surprised she'd found him funny. She promptly stifled it and bit her lip, and he slowly turned away again.

Harry stepped forward. "Herm, we were looking out for another place, but there's nothing much nearby, certainly nothing bigger than this spot here."

She frowned. "So why waste time?"

"Well, we were drifting along up there –"

" … lonely as a cloud …" Ginny bit back her smile again, and Malfoy shot her that swift, curious look once more.

"Quite. Shut up now, Malfoy. Um, we noticed that we're really a lot further in than it seemed. So we decided, hey, we have fast brooms, right? So we went a bit further, till we could more or less clearly see the end of the woods with these things," he brandished the Omnioculars.

Hermione could have feigned annoyance a bit more, but really, she felt several different emotions. Relief, and a new energy at the astonishing news of their progress, which had seemed painstakingly slow in the thickness of trees, and had been wearing on all their nerves. Surprise at the growing co-operation of her two scouts, even though they would be eternally programmed to insult each other. Exasperation at the knowledge that she'd got so worried simply because they were off on a joyride.

And, of course, an intense curiosity. What was it really like at the other end of the forest? And was it the same thing as was at the end of the journey, full stop?

Her eyes flicked involuntarily to Percy, as strongly interested now as she was, the Pensieve a-flutter beside him. He stroked it absentmindedly, and Hermione was suddenly, inexplicably, visited with a sharp and fleeting consciousness of the warmth of those lean hands. She shook herself in embarrassment. What a thought to have at this time! What was wrong with her? Bloody alternate dimensions … 

Therefore, Hermione simply waved a hand at the scouts, in a general gesture of "go on then". She didn't notice the sharp movement of Percy beside her, as he looked up first at her, then at his hands, in surprise.

Malfoy stepped in. "Well, the forest goes a bit cuckoo towards the end. Straggly in some places, the depths of the Congo in others. Looking at it from above was like, you know, when the clouds pass shadows over the land, and it all looks fluid and changeable. Except _we_ were the ones floating, and really the land was still …"

"Forget him, he's got a thing about clouds today." Harry took over, smirking in return. It was, however, Ginny's turn to look surprised at the oddly serious Malfoy. And if he hadn't been Malfoy, she could have sworn he averted his eyes from her stare.

"Then the trees give out altogether – and – it's really weird – for miles and miles, all you can see, right up to this huge mountain in the distance, is –"

"Stone." Heads swiveled to look at Percy, sitting there with distant fear in his eyes. 

There was a pause. Fred and George looked at each other, shaking their heads a little and frowning. Harry recovered first.

"Yeah, that's right … how did you know?"

"You could see it from the hill-top." Nobody remarked on how far away it had been when he supposedly saw it. Assuming Percy had known in advance anyway, though in reality Dumbledore hadn't concentrated on the physical details of Dengwert in his instructions. Percy was to rely on his new "intuition" for that.

"Just stone?" Hermione queried of the scouts. "What, ridges or something?"

"No, that's the bizarre thing. It's flat. Not a sizeable bump or a crevasse in sight. Makes you feel smaller than an ant on an ice-rink." They all digested the information. Well, what else could you expect from this psychotic bloody land? Malfoy continued.

"It was getting dark, so we couldn't go any further. Ergo, we came back."

The evening lowered over the heads of the eclectic group congregated in the miserly clearing. The fire crackled as Fred tended it, George finishing the preparation of the hare. Harry and Malfoy drifted towards it, assembling themselves around in pow-wow fashion. Malfoy eyed the hare, the only one seemingly not bothered by the blood. Ginny shuddered as she decided not to wonder why.

George cleared his throat meaningfully. Waiting for either Hermione or Percy, the most skilled at magic among them, to volunteer for the cooking. They'd find it easier to levitate the carcass above the flames. Percy blinked, and moved forward. "Here, George." He took the dead hare, knelt down, and almost lazily flicking his wand, began to rotate it over the fire. He occasionally peered over his shoulder at the others, a couple of whom looked like they wanted to say something.

Harry began. "Hermione? Malfoy and I made that trip pretty quickly by broom, considering … only half a day. We could go and investigate the plain ourselves, fly right up to the edge, if we had more time."

Hermione frowned, thinking of all the possible problems. "I don't know … don't much like the idea of splitting up the group. How would we find our way ahead?"

"Just wing it for a while, I guess. We wouldn't take very long, maybe two or three days. Or …" he added, slowly, "We could _all _fly there … in shifts."

"But then we'd _really _split up the group!"

"Only for a short while. We'd all have got there by a week or so, and we'd be in pairs, anyway."

"What if someone got lost, or got attacked by something, or simply couldn't find us or whatever?"

Malfoy butted in. "Scenario one – make for the big bloody stone plain, straight ahead, can't miss it. Two – have we seen any creature in this godforsaken land bigger than that hare or scarier than you? Three – anyone that thick deserves to get left behind." 

Hermione and several Weasleys scowled. Harry, however, said, "Wouldn't have quite phrased it like that, but well, I actually, er … _agree_ with _Malfoy_?" Sounding more like an incredulous question than a statement. 

Ginny snorted. "Forget about supplies, people. We'll be eating bacon every evening when that battalion of flying pigs reaches us." 

"I still don't like it … what about supplies? We should spend the time we have left in this forest picking up food and water, we still haven't figured out how to carry large amounts of water, no?"

Fred chipped in "Some could wait at the edge of the forest for a day or so, while we _real_ men" (the girls rolled their eyes) "do some intensive hunting. Getting used to this hunter-gatherer thing, you know. Not for the weak of stomach."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I help too, in case you hadn't noticed. Anyway, I have one word for you, Fred: Puffsie."

Fred gaped. "You don't – you weren't – how did you – you better not –" Ginny tapped her nose and laughed out loud.

"But," Hermione was oblivious, "what about the water?"

Fred being temporarily speechless with shock or shame, George suggested, "Well, we _are_ wizards, and witches too of course … surely we can think of something? We've got Hogwarts' top students past and present here, right?" Hermione squeaked as if she'd remembered something important, some drastic flaw in the scheme.

"What?" 

She suddenly looked very frightened. "Oh – oh – I forgot – this year – my NEWTs! Oh, we must be missing so much homework!" Her face was a mask of horror, and she suddenly looked a lot less the careful and capable leader.

Everyone smiled, and then tried not to. Percy sympathetically reached out his free hand and took hers, to calm her down. It certainly distracted Hermione from her momentary panic over the exams, and instead she found herself smiling sheepishly at nothing, trying very hard not to concentrate on how his hand felt exactly as warm and slender as she'd imagined. Hermione couldn't decide whether it was good or bad that Percy's blank expression did not alter over the feel of her hand in return, or the emptiness left when she shyly withdrew it.

Ginny watched secretively, an early diary prediction almost nearly verified. She became aware that Malfoy was looking at her, in turn, and recoiled in embarrassment, feeling vaguely upset. Nobody usually noticed her observing them from the sidelines, she was left to it in peace. And now, suddenly, she had those intense blue eyes watching, which she had to remember belonged to somebody not very nice at all. What right did he have? Her jaw set stubbornly and unconsciously, her lip curled in a manner well reminiscent of Ron, and she folded her arms. Refusing to acknowledge him.

With difficulty, Hermione looked Percy in the eye, and asked him what he thought of the idea. "Well …" he began, frowning delicately. "I would prefer we kept together … while we can … and we do need supplies. But it would certainly be a good idea to get out of the forest, so … I don't know yet … I'd have to think about it. Let me sleep on it." 

Hermione shrugged. "OK. We don't have to set off tonight, anyway." But she could see Harry, who had originally suggested the scheme, looking dissatisfied, and a little annoyed that Percy seemed to have assumed the ultimate authority over this. She sympathised with both of them. However, it was really Percy's decision, being as he was the only one who knew what he was doing here.

Malfoy was unfussed about anything other than food, by now. "I'm hungryyy, come onnn …" he moaned. The twins, too, gazed at the roasting, juicy hare longingly, and Hermione felt the hunger gnawing at her own stomach.

Ginny fished around near the log, locating the pile of nuts and roots left from the last meal. "Let's eat, then."

Later, hunger more or less sated, they made their preparations for sleep. With not much in the way of tents or sleeping-bags, they'd tried to make do with what they'd got. Malfoy's Invisibility Cloak did the rounds, usually falling to whoever was in the most exposed spot, and serving the double purpose of keeping them warm and hiding them from imagined enemies. Otherwise, they huddled together for warmth (not that they had much of a choice, given the clearing). 

Hermione looked down at the others, curling around logs and bushes and each other. Harry, Ron, Fred and George bunched together along the log, and Malfoy had tucked himself into a gap between it and the biggest tree in the clearing. In the drowning light of the cinders, Hermione surveyed their faces. All peaceful as they began to doze … except for Harry, who was one of those boys who frown in their sleep. She smiled to herself at this picture of her formidable little friend.

She turned away, to see the remaining two, Ginny and Percy, sleeping along the other side of the fire. Ginny had, like Malfoy, tucked herself into a corner, although all that could be seen of her was a clump of red hair; Malfoy had donated his Cloak to her today. Percy had tucked his lanky frame in as best he could, a little distance away from his sister, and he too frowned in his sleep. The Pensieve was hooked under one arm. He seemed afraid to let it leave his side, these days. 

No nocturnal magical animals were out nearby. There was a strange, waiting peace over everything, and a silence in the air broken only by a slight swish of wind above.

Hermione glanced up at the canopy of leaves, more audible than visible in the gloom. Wondering if there would be another storm, and should she put the rain-deflecting spell over the whole camp? Last time had been frightening, the wind howling through the wood, and all the world around them slashed with rain. The lightning had been especially scary: even the twins admitted that. She'd fervently vowed never to go camping again if she had a choice in the matter.

But she was sleepy, and alone, and such a strong spell took a lot out of her. Also, though she had not articulated it as such, she was experiencing the same uneasiness as Ginny (and, separately, Ron) over the use of magic out here. The place called for magic, but the means they had seemed so amateur somehow, now. 

__

Well, she thought, _might as well take a look out anyway. _She put her foot up on the lowest protrusion of the nearest tree, grasping at the thick rough bark with clumsy fingers and shaking her hair out of her face. She was not exactly a natural, however, she was small and slim, and moreover had had to do this several times already this trip. Soon she had hauled herself up near the first level of the canopy; a few more branches and she'd see the sky. 

A twig crackled beneath her worn trainers. Below her, the mop of red hair rustled, and a crooked arm materialised suddenly, as Ginny moved in her sleep. Anywhere else and that would have been a strange sight. However, it didn't pay to look down. Hermione crawled up the old, gnarled trunk, climbing carefully though she couldn't properly see the footholds, until she poked her head past the final sprays of leaves. What she saw drew an involuntary gasp. Her feet scrabbled to hold onto the branch.

The night sky was stunning beyond belief. She realised with a start that she hadn't even bothered to enjoy it before this night: only cursorily looking out at near-dusk to ascertain the visibility, never at midnight in the loneliest countryside on earth. The scene now was infused with the unmistakeable mystery of deep night. Earlier today, with a brisk look up at a gap in the leaves, she had dismissed it as "cloudy" – but oh, what clouds they had become! 

Like silvery smoke, they were hurled against furious, invisible currents in the night, crisping, curling, splashing soundlessly against the immovable dark. Tendrils of light ran and twisted and fanned out, far over the entire sky, but in the velvet hollows between their softening edges there sparkled the same blessed stars of any night back home, albeit infinitely more bright. These same stars were the modest source of the myriad spraying hues of the cloud waves. It was like the most beautiful weaving: like silver silk threads on midnight robes. Except, fluid …

The swift mottled streams cast ethereal light over a massively silent vista of trees. The dark, distant mountain was lost to view, and the one they'd left rose behind them in salty foothills and misty, fading heights. But Hermione kept looking back up at the sky. It was intoxicating, especially when she tried to hold the entire scene in her view at once. The whole sky swayed with tumbling, damp light, now softer, now splintering at the edges, endlessly moving and stretching from horizon to horizon. It gave her a heady, vertiginous sort of exhilaration, and she had to remember to hold on to the tapering tree-trunk as she gazed around herself. 

Yet the wind which, judging by those clouds, should have thrown her to the ground long ago, was non-existent. Only a slight breeze lifted the hair from her face, bathed in the same unearthly light as everything else. The moon was a clipped sliver of marble white, repeatedly blanked out and revealed again by the eddying clouds. 

Hermione, in her perch, felt unreal herself. Her scuffed trainers rested firmly on the dark, tough branches beneath, and her face seemed swathed in heaven. The air brushed at her robes, rustling them out behind her back, cooling her skin with a pleasant tingle. Her bushy hair felt light and soft at her neck, and she knew there was a druggy sort of smile on her lips. It was an intensely personal feeling combining tranquillity and exhilaration, though the whole world gaped above and below her. 

Even in that paused moment of bliss, however, Hermione was conscious of reality. She began to wonder how those mesmerising clouds moved without wind, up there in the further reaches of the sky. Perhaps the air currents were stronger there. Or … what was it Malfoy had said? At the edge of the forest, the trees began to straggle and bunch up, like the play of darkness and light under fast-moving clouds. A thought grew in her consciousness, and filled her with a new, more dangerous thrill.

What if those currents in the sky weren't air at all? What if they were magic? This lonely paradise had nothing but magic to fill its emptiness. No houses were built, no territories drawn, no children brought up to live and learn. Just the peaceful, small animals and the timeless trees, life at its most elemental. Magic at its most elemental … 

Now Hermione understood why she felt like a Muggle here. Brave new world, and all that. Their tiny, clumsy, practical spells jarred ever-so-slightly with these natural currents. No time now to wonder how this other world had been created and kept secret, unpolluted, uncivilised. That was a matter for Percy, or Dumbledore, or the tooth fairy if need be. It was irrelevant to Hermione right then, looking on the empty forest and full sky with wonderment, feeling even more acutely like an intruder into heaven. A romantic idea, but then she felt strange up there: a princess in an adventure tale, shielding her eyes against a foreign sky, romance and danger and beauty trailing out behind her like a windblown cloak. The magic felt even stronger now she understood it better.

The princess was, however, aware she had to go to sleep soon or she'd be shatterd the next morning. There were a million questions still, but she'd leave them to another night, now she knew where to find the answers. She felt like she'd been so busy holding the group together, this was the first time she'd thoroughly felt the fascination of the place. Hermione took in the whole view slowly, one more time, and ducked down into dark normality again. She rested for a moment on the branch, feeling like herself again, and not knowing whether that was good or bad.

As her feet touched the ground, and she looked to lie down and finally go to sleep, she got a shock. Percy was watching, quietly, sitting up. She shivered involuntarily, the cold only reaching her now.

"The clouds?"

Hermione didn't know how or when he'd seen them, or if he'd been secretly awake all the time. She could only answer "Yes", sluggishly kicking the cinders into dust, and moved to sit down beside him, the weight settling on her eyes as if gravity had not existed up there. The sky was barely visible now through the canopy, and any glimpses from the ground somehow seemed to show only ordinary clouds. Of the otherworldly experience, only the memory and the residual thrill on her nerves lingered. And Percy's knowing of the lights too didn't make them any less privately wonderful, somehow ...

Percy did an uncharacteristic thing then. With a wry, friendly smile, he opened his arms, and, surprised but too tired to feel very embarrassed, Hermione settled into them. He was warm and slender, but with a lean solidity to him. She sighed peacefully. It was oddly comforting, all the more so because he wasn't fussing and he wasn't saying a word. Like companionship. Hermione's was full to bursting with the sights she'd seen in the trees, but remained silent, because he seemed to already know, and she felt her eyes closing. Her frame became limp against his, as she slipped into a lulling unconsciousness.

Percy soon became aware of this. Very slowly and gently, he let her down, so she could curl up against the cool night. He watched her serious but contented face, crystal clear in every nuance even through the numbing Spell. And, carefully, he lay down alongside her, awkwardly draping an arm over her again, which Hermione instinctively moved into. Some strange sort of temporary contentment permeated his thoughts as, curled up together on the ground of a foreign world, he waited to follow her into dreaming sleep.


End file.
